Brothers In Darkness
by JenBurch
Summary: For TraSan! Somethings bothering Dean, but Sam can't figure out what it is. He's moody, he's angry, he's... different. While Sam tries to figure out why Dean's mad at him and how he can fix it, could there be something more going on?
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Set after Dean returns from his trip 'down-under'. Dean begins to act strangely. He's mean, he's cruel, he's not himself. Has Sam done something wrong? Is Dean suffering from being in hell? Or is there more going on than Sam realises?

Dedication – This story is written solely and purely for TraSan, it's a request she made for me over a year ago and I'm finally getting around to it! So thank you, TraSan, for all the love and support and friendship that you've shown me over the time we've known each other and I hope you know how much you've changed my life. You're really important to me and I'm comforted to know that, throughout everything I've gone through, you're out there supporting to me and ready to listen.

Just as a matter of interest, the following dedication was what I originally wrote over a year ago when I first sat down to write this story. It is also all that was written back then! Here it is:

"DEDICATION: To TraSan! This story was requested by TraSan. One day I wake up in the morning and find an email waiting for me from my friend and fav writer… and I smile. I always smile when I get emails from her, only when I open it… well, suddenly my brain is overwhelmed with ideas as I read and she's requested one very simple type of story, only it's never that easy with me. Two things is all she's asked for, and suddenly this story was conceived and now I have a migraine that will only go away if I do it justice and let the ideas flow. So, I hope you like this story, and I really hope it's what you were after hun! Sit back, enjoy… and don't eat my cookie  Hey, you still owe me a donut! Lol

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. I don't own Dean (sad). I don't own Sam (still sad). I don't own the Impala… and I don't own anything that you've ever seen on the show. I don't own the initial concept of this story either, since that was provided to me by the ever lovely TraSan… but I will lay claim to the story that follows!"

A/N – I've never used a beta before, but for this very special project I have asked a good friend of mine and TraSan's, Muffy Morrigan, to beta for me. She said yes, thankfully, because TraSan has made a big difference to her life too. So a big thank you to Muffy for all her help, and wow, you're right… I do… use… them a… lot! Lol

A/N 2 – Set before Dean tells Sam that he remembers everything about what happened to him in Hell. Sam does NOT know that Dean remembers.

**Chapter One**

Sam Winchester was curled up in his bed, warm and snug with the blankets wrapped around him. It wasn't often the beds they slept in were comfortable, but this motel was blessed with beds that just seemed to mould to any body perfectly. Sam could swear the bed was made for him specifically and not just intended for any random traveller to crash into in a heap of exhaustion at the end of a day.

The hunt had been simple, or, at least it was supposed to be.

A simple salt and burn. An elderly man had gone insane from syphilis some time in the 1790s. For fifteen years he brought prostitutes and bar wenches home, tortured and killed them until he finally died in early September 1796. His body hadn't been discovered for over a month when someone had finally reported him missing.

What had never been found were the bodies buried in the basement of the old man's mansion. At least, until Sam and Dean had come along. The ghost of the old man was often seen on the grounds, terrorising the tourists and grounds-keepers that worked in the old building. It was falling to ruin, but it was used as a historical tourist attraction. It was famous for the man who had made his fortune from running several bars in the district and investing heavily in wine and other expensive liquor. Many of the tourists came intrigued by the rumour of a ghost haunting the grounds, and some of them had fallen victim to the old man himself. Their presence alone added to the mystery and legend.

Many of his present day victims had been treated in the psychiatric ward at the hospital for at least a week, if not longer. Except for one, the first victim. She was still there, three years after she had been trapped on the grounds over night with the old man's ghost.

Sam shuddered, his peace interrupted by the memory of his interview with the poor woman who grew pale when Sam had explained why they were there to see her. She had immediately started to shiver so strongly it looked like she was having some kind of convulsion.

_"We need to know what you saw, Sally," Dean pushed further. Sam put his hand on his brother's arm as Dean leaned forward in his chair, conveying the urgency of the situation. Sam knew Dean was right. They did need to know what had happened to the woman, so that when they went to salt and burn the old man's body they could be prepared for whatever he could throw at them. But Sam saw something in Sally's eyes that Dean didn't, or wouldn't, see._

"_Dean, don't," Sam spoke so quietly that Dean glanced at him. "She's terrified, Dean, look at her."_

"_Sam, this is important. We've talked to the others, but none of them were in the same situation as Sally, they don't have the same experience! Hell, half of them don't even remember!" Dean sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face, releasing Sally's hand in the process. "I'm sorry, Sally… Look, we're trying to make sure that this never happens to anyone else… We really need to know what happened to you… can you tell us?"_

Sam rolled over in his bed, all comfort from the heavenly mattress gone, replaced with a pain in his stomach that he didn't want to think about, didn't want to remember. A pain that had started moments after speaking to Sally and had continued ever since. He knew this hunt was bad, he knew it hadn't gone well, even if it did seem to have been a text book case. It was simple, straightforward. Go in, find grave, dig grave, salt and burn the body. Simple. Done and dusted.

What wasn't simple was how it was impacting him.

_A nurse came running over when Sally started whimpering, covering her face with her hands, rocking in her seat._

"_You have to leave now," the nurse stated, putting an arm protectively around Sally's shoulders. "I warned you not to upset her, I warned you she was vulnerable… What did you say?"_

_Dean had the good sense to look sheepish, even guilty, but he didn't say anything. Sam waited for him to speak, but Dean said nothing._

_Sam sighed and turned to the nurse._

"_I'm so sorry," he said simply and honestly. He turned to Sally and put his hand on her shoulder gently. "I'm so sorry to upset you, Sally. Try and get some rest."_

_The sincerity in Sam's voice caught the nurses' attention, and she glanced up at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off as the orderly slipped a needle into Sally's arm. As the medicine flowed easily into her veins, she looked up at Sam with tears pooling in her eyes and slipping down her cheeks._

"_You have to stop him," she whispered, pain etched into her face in fine lines around her eyes._

_Sam nodded his promise, but Dean stepped towards Sally again._

"_Dean," Sam warned him._

"_Sally," Dean began, ignoring Sam. "What did he do to you?"_

_Sally shuddered._

"_Dean, come on," Sam insisted, pulling her away._

_  
"Sam, we have to find out what happened before this guy kills someone!" Dean yelled, pushing Sam away. "She knows what he does, she can give us information that could save your life if things get bad!"_

"_You can't put her through this, Dean," Sam insisted. "You have to back off! We've dealt with this sort of thing before, we'll manage."_

"_Know your enemy, Sam," Dean growled. "You know you have to go into a hunt with all the information, you know a lack of information can get you killed."_

"_I know this woman has been through enough!" Sam snapped at last. "Whatever he did to her…"_

_Sally launched to her feet in spite of the sedatives coursing through her veins. She ripped her hospital shirt open and stood half naked before them, gasping for breath. This time her gasps were from anger rather than fear._

"_THIS!" she cried, screamed at the top of her lungs. Sam and Dean stood dumbfounded, staring at the woman's bare breasts, the curve around her hip that would normally be enough to turn any man weak at the knees. She should have been beautiful, stunning, sexy as hell and yet whatever had happened to her had left her disfigured beyond human imagination. "THIS is what he did to me!"_

Sam turned onto his back, throwing one arm over his eyes as if trying to force the image of Sally's disfigured form out of his mind. She had never told them what the old man had done to her to cause those scars, but Sam also knew that some of them were self-induced.

"Can't sleep?" Dean asked, his voice gravelly from sleep. "Sam, you've got to get this woman out of your head. It's not your fault."

Sam sighed again.

"Seriously, Sam, it's not your fault," Dean insisted. Sam heard him shift and glanced over at him. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Sam glanced at the clock between their beds. It was 3 a.m… again. 3 a.m. Always 3 a.m. "Sam, you're going to kill yourself if you keep this up. Get over it, okay? It's another hunt over with, successfully I might add, and aside from a few bumps and bruises we're okay. Ready for the next hunt."

"Okay?" Sam asked, sitting upright and glaring at Dean. "Successful? What exactly about this hunt was successful?"

"The ghost is dead," Dean reminded him. "And I count that as a success."

"A ghost is dead," Sam repeated, nodded slowly. He swallowed hard, trying to rid himself of the painful lump in his throat. "A ghost is dead… but a woman is dead, too, Dean."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but snapped it shut again. Sam saw him shake his head before getting up and padding across the floor to the bathroom, muttering something under his breath.

Sam wasn't sure if he heard Dean right.

He really hoped he'd heard wrong.

He could've sworn…

No…

It couldn't have been…

"The damn ghost is dead, what more does the asshole want?"

SNSNSNS

An hour had passed. Dean had returned to bed after a flush of the toilet. His breathing had immediately evened out into the deep breathing of sleep. Sam couldn't understand him, he couldn't figure out what was up with his brother. He'd been acting strange for two weeks now, two weeks at least! It was nothing Sam could really put his finger on, Dean was just… different. He seemed to snap more often, get annoyed over little things and instead of the easy banter and teasing nature that had always been between the two of them, there seemed to be this tension that Sam couldn't explain. He wondered if he had done something wrong, something to upset Dean, something to seriously piss him off, but there was nothing that he could think of. He had been the dutiful brother, the expert hunter, always had Dean's back, always did the research, and they had been particularly successful in their hunts over the last month.

Until this hunt, at least. This hunt was…

Sam swallowed again, refusing to let his mind drift back over the memories that had plagued him the last two nights. But Dean's words… now that he couldn't get out of his head. They had echoed in his mind a number of times over the last hour, and Sam just couldn't shake the feeling he'd done something wrong.

"_The damn ghost is dead, what more does the asshole want?"_

Dean was never one for the heart to heart conversations, he would rather bury any and all emotion as deep inside as he could and avoid having to talk about it. He had always been that way. Always. But he didn't shy away from it when it counted, he always talked when it was important, and always when Sam was suffering. When Jessica had died, Dean had always been ready and willing to talk, it was always Sam that put a wall up on that conversation. But he talked out there in the woods, in the dark, inside the protective circle from the Wendigo that threatened their lives. He'd talked about how hard it was to live a hunters' life, but how he got the strength to do it day after day for the people they protected. He talked later when he'd told Sam that having dinner with Sarah could be good for him with the creepy-ass demonic ghost inhabited painting, telling him that crying out Jessica's name night after night would kill him. Sam had listened, had opened up, had gained strength from those conversations with Dean, and they'd been the words that helped him get through each day until he didn't have to remind himself to breathe in and out.

But now? Now things were different. Sam had slept, sure. He had been comfortable, felt satisfaction at a job well done. He had celebrated with a couple of beers down the pub. He had snuggled into the heavenly bed that now felt like rocks beneath him, and yet he was plagued by memories of a tortured woman, a tormented soul inside her… he felt guilt over her death, over her pain.

But Dean… Dean just seemed to be in a bad mood. He wasn't there for Sam, he wasn't willing to talk. Sam saw fleeting moment where Dean seemed to be himself, like tonight when he told Sam that he had to stop blaming himself, but in the same conversation he acted like Sam was being…

Sam rolled over, his back to Dean's bed, and forced his eyes closed. He didn't want to think anymore, didn't want to feel, and he particularly didn't want to look at his brother.

Something was seriously wrong, he must've really pissed Dean off to make him shut down so completely. Sam yawned and promised himself he would bring it up with Dean over breakfast first thing in the morning. After he ran out and get Dean's favourite from the diner up the road and surprise him.

He was going to make this right…

SNSNSN

Sam rolled over again, waking from a trouble sleep. He didn't look at the clock, he really didn't want to know how much time had passed since he had fallen asleep. He knew it hadn't been long, but his body yearned for at least another few hours of rest. He was exhausted, he was sporting sore muscles and an aching back. He was stiff and had a few minor cuts and bruises that were no more than an inconvenience, but they were enough to add to his weariness, and have him begging to the haze that his mind got when sleep took over.

But that wasn't to be, and Sam could see that now. He had woken to something… he'd heard something. He was always on alert, just as Dean had taught him, and the slightest sound could drag him from the deepest sleep and have him prepared to defend himself in a moment. This time, however, Sam just waited.

He listened.

He really hoped it was nothing more than Dean rolling over in his sleep, grumbling something unintelligible as had become the norm lately. Sam glanced over at Dean's bed.

It was empty.

"What the hell?" Sam whispered, immediately on high alert. He turned to look toward the bathroom when his heart jumped high into his throat and he threw himself out of the bed to land painfully on the floor between his bed and Dean's. "Dean, what the hell?!?!"

Dean was standing beside Sam's bed, staring down at his pillow. He must've been watching Sam sleeping, and the creepiness of that thought was so disturbing to Sam he felt sick. Dean had watched over him as he slept before, but it was only ever when he was sick or injured. This? This was not normal!

And yet, Dean didn't respond.

"Dean?" Sam asked again. Dean stared back at him, not blinking, not speaking, barely moving. "Dean, what the hell?" Sam got to his feet and moved toward his brother. Dean hadn't moved. Sam turned him towards him, waved a hand in front of his eyes, snapped his fingers, but got no reaction from Dean at all. "Huh… this is new."

Sam didn't know what else to do, so he took his brothers hand and gently tugged him in the direction of his bed. When he didn't budge, Sam shrugged and pushed him to sit on the bed instead. Dean had somehow gotten himself completely dressed as if he had to go out hunting, he even had his favourite knife in the sheath at his ankle that Sam pulled off as he took Dean's boots off. When he moved to remove Dean's jeans, something in his hand caught his eye. Deans gun. Dean had been standing by Sam's bed, watching him sleeping… armed.

"That's just weird," Sam muttered, taking the gun carefully from his brother, sighing in relief as he saw the safety switch was still on, even as a wave of uneasiness threatened to overcome him. He pushed Dean onto the pillows gently, pulled his jeans off him and tossed them onto the pile on the other side of the room. He put the weapons away and sat in a chair nearby, watching Dean as he fell back into an easy sleep.

Sam wouldn't be getting anymore sleep, no way in hell. Things had gotten way too freaky for him to be able to get any more rest. Finding his big brother, armed, standing over him, seemingly fast asleep was just too much for him to be able to deal with.

He finally gave in and glanced at the clock. 4:30 a.m. Not much time had passed, but the good news was that it was much longer before the day would start.

SNSNSN

His head dropping forward onto his chest, eyes drooping heavily, Sam struggled to stay awake. He was so exhausted, he hadn't slept well over the last few night, and tonight in particular. He wasn't sure how much longer he would be able to get through every day life without proper rest, and in the life of a hunter rest was essential, lives depended on it. His life. Dean's life… especially Dean's life. If anything happened to Dean because he was tired, he'd never forgive himself. He couldn't carry around anymore guilt and responsibility without his back breaking in two.

Dean hadn't moved since Sam had deposited him into the bed that Sam had been so comfortable not so long ago. Not so much as a twitch. Sam glanced at the clock for what felt like the hundredth time that night. 5:43am. The diner opened at 6 a.m. Sam sighed and glanced back at Dean. He was breathing evening, soundly, his face the very picture of peace. Sam often wondered how Dean could rest so soundly considering what they dealt with every day, the things they saw. That was before Sam had gone to Stanford. When he came back it was with a jaded spirit but fresh eyes, and he realised that Dean didn't sleep soundly, he was always on alert, his body aware in case he had to defend Sam from something. Sam, it was always Sam… he knew that. He was the reason that Dean couldn't rest, why he would sleep with one eye open.

But recently things were different. Ever since Dean had come back, things were… different. Sam could understand that, it was to be expected after months in hell. Even Dean couldn't come back unscathed from hell. Sam had no idea the things that Dean had seen, how he must've suffered, and he wasn't sure he wanted to find out. Dean hadn't mentioned it, hadn't spoken about anything. As far as Sam knew, Dean didn't remember anything, but then again Sam hadn't asked either. He didn't want to know… he had barely been able to live with himself after Dean had been killed, and if he knew what Dean had suffered because of him, he wasn't sure he could ever look him in the eye again.

Sam sighed once again and got to his feet, stretching the kinks out of his long frame. He figured he could slip out of the room, walk down to the diner in time for it to open and get back again with breakfast, all hopefully before Dean woke to find him gone. Dean would have worried if he'd woke to find Sam gone before his time spent in hell, but somehow, since coming back, he seemed even more worried.

Until recently. Sam just had to figure out what was wrong, what he had done wrong.

He glanced around him, searching for his clothes that he knew he had deposited after his shower the night before in exchange for sweatpants and shirt, but he couldn't remember where he'd left them. Everything was kind of fuzzy, his memory a blur from the last couple of weeks.

Finally he saw his clothes buried in the corner under his duffel bag.

Wait, that was Dean's duffel bag. Sam puzzled over that for a moment before realising he wasn't going to get a logical answer to anything right now. He pushed aside his confusion, collected his clothes and dressed quickly.

Five minutes after getting dressed, Sam tore his eyes away from his sleeping brother and left the room. Pocketing the keys, he swore to himself that he would be back before Dean woke up.

SNSNSN

Sam had been gone longer than he had intended, his exhaustion from the difficult hunt and the lack of sleep over night taking more of a toll on himself than he cared to admit. He glanced at his watch as he walked back into the room and realised Dean would probably have woken up by now.

It was 7a.m.

Damn, Sam thought. Dean's gonna be pissed!

Closing the door behind him, Sam glanced around the room. Dean's bed was empty, and Dean was nowhere to be seen.

Sam listened. Sounds were coming from the bathroom. Before he could cross the room to knock on the door and check on Dean, the door was swung open and Dean walked out. He was fully dressed, showered, and looking oddly carefree.

Sam was confused. Again.

"Hey," he began, hoping to ease Dean's anger before Dean had a chance to fire off at him. He held up the take away bag and coffee. "I ducked out to grab some breakfast from the diner up the road, I thought you'd like your favourite. Oh, and coffee, of course. Gotta go with the most important meal of the day."

"What, breakfast?" Dean asked casually.

Sam frowned.

"No, coffee," Sam explained. Something was off, Dean just wasn't himself. He wasn't reacting the way he would normally react if he'd woken up to find his little brother missing and, Sam realised, no note explaining his absence. He grimaced inwardly, realising how badly he had screwed up. He should have left a note, he shouldn't have let Dean wake up alone after everything they'd been through. After everything Dean had been through because of him. "Hey, I'm sorry I didn't leave a note. I didn't get much sleep last night and I guess I just forgot."

"Huh?" Dean asked, grabbing his duffel from the corner and starting to chuck his clothes into it carelessly.

"I was just saying, I didn't mean to leave without letting you know where I was going," Sam explained, his confusion deepening.

"Oh," Dean muttered, staring at one of his socks as if he'd never seen them before and they needed deep thought to determine their origin. "I didn't realise you'd gone out."

Sam felt his heart drop. Dean didn't realise he'd been gone? He'd woken up, completely unaware of Sam's absence and didn't even care? Didn't even notice? What is up with that?!?

Dean was always so hyper-vigilant about Sam's whereabouts, his well-being and, well, Sam! And now, all of a sudden, he doesn't care? Doesn't even notice waking up to an empty hotel room?

"Dean?" Sam began, uncertainty lacing his voice. Dean let out a barely perceptible grunt of acknowledgment, but didn't look up from packing his things. "Is something wrong?"

"What would be wrong?" Dean muttered, as if he weren't even talking to Sam.

"Well, I just thought," Sam hesitated. He watched as Dean turned away from him and started looking around the room as if he'd lost something. "I thought, well… Dean, what are you doing?"

"I'm looking for my gun," Dean told him, snapping. "I never lose my gun, but it's not here. Have you taken it?"

"What do you mean? Why would I take your gun?" Sam asked, watching as Dean began digging through Sam's things with an urgency that made no sense. "Dean, hang on a second!" Sam tried to stop him from messing his corner of the room. "You had it last night, Dean, remember?"

"What are you talking about? I didn't have it last night," Dean snapped, straightening and glaring at Sam. "Where is it, Sam?"

"I put it somewhere safe," Sam answered, fetching it quickly. "You were sleep-walking and I took it from you and put it away."

"You took my gun!" Dean yelled. "You lied to me!"

"What?"

"I asked you if you took my gun, Sam, and you said you didn't," Dean answered, his voice low and deep in his throat as if it were a threatening growl. He stepped toward Sam, causing Sam to take an involuntary step backwards as he saw a look in his brothers eyes that he had never seen before. "What would you call that?"

"I…"

"That's right," Dean hissed. He turned his back on Sam, his shoulders tense. "Get your things together and get in the car. You have five minutes."

"Five minutes, or what?" Sam asked, uncertain he wanted to hear the answer.

He didn't have to hear it, the look Dean gave him said it all.

SUPERNATURAL

Looking forward to what you think, so don't forget to drop me a line!


	2. Chapter 2

Warning: Things get a little tense at times and there may be some curse-type words spoken. If you don't like that kind of language, please feel free to insert the word 'bubblegum' wherever applicable :)

Dedicated: To the awesome, amazing, wonderful TraSan! If you haven't already read her stuff, get on over there and do it! She's the author that got me into writing, she's my friend, my mentor and, quite often, my inspiration.

Special thanks to: My awesome beta, Muffy, who waved her magic wand over this and found some blindingly obvious errors and repetitions that I threw in there in a moment of complete insanity. Thankfully, that moment has passed and, with Muffy's help and encouragement, this chapter turned out much better than I thought.

HUGE thanks to: TraSan. Yes, I'm mean, I put her to work on her own Pressie Fic, but in my defence this wasn't work! She virtually begged for it! Okay, I begged her, but she was excited just the same! She's been so patient with me, but I could hear that foot tapping from over here, so 'work' was really more of a 'sneak peak'. But thanks to her I was able to actually FINISH this chapter, since I'd been staring at the last seen for days completely unable to figure out what to do next, when she gave me some awesome advice. It's just too awesome not to share, so here it is! "Not all scenes need to be written". How profound is that?!?! I read that and BANG! This chapter was complete! Thanks hun!

**Chapter Two**

Dean sat in the driver's seat, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. He felt an unbearable pressure building up inside him, threatening to force itself out of his chest.

He was angry.

No, not angry. What he felt was more like rage. Painful, burning, all consuming rage and it was aimed at his little brother. Thinking about the past couple of hours he couldn't think of why he'd be so angry with Sam. He cast his mind back, over past days, weeks, months, but nothing was coming to mind. Things had been okay between him and Sam, they hadn't argued any more than usual. There had been no real difference of opinion. Well, not until the hunt with the old man, of course. That's when it had changed, but this rage had been building since-

When? Since when? He wasn't sure, he couldn't pinpoint a time except to say it had been around the time of that hunt. Things had been different and now they were getting worse.

A lot more serious. He had wanted to hit Sam – in anger. Something he hadn't done often in their lives. In fact, the one time he remembered vividly was when he had lashed out at Sam after their father had died. When everything was dark and painful and every breath Dean took hurt, and every breath Sam took made him realise what he might have to do, what his father had told him he might have had to do.

And every breath he took simply reminded him of what his father had died for.

Dean wanted to run back inside to tell Sam he was sorry, that he would never leave him behind, that he didn't mean the things he'd said. He wanted to tell Sam he was just being a pain in the ass older brother and was just talking shit and should be ignored at all costs.

Instead, Dean felt the rage begin to build to dangerous levels. He didn't just want to hit Sam, he wanted to hurt him. _Really _ hurt him. And not just physically, he wanted to do serious and lasting damage to his little brother. The person he had fought to protect since the day he was born. He wanted to make him beg for forgiveness, to plead for his life.

Forgiveness for what?

And why would Dean ever want to hurt Sam like that? Why would he want Sam to have to plead for his life? Why?

"Oh, shit!" Dean hissed, sudden realisation hitting him like a sucker punch.

And then it all became clear. Everything began to make sense.

Sam had to die.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

When Sam got out to the car 4 minutes and 53 seconds later, Dean was revving the engine and glaring at the door. Sam hesitated, concern putting a painful lump in his throat, but when he saw Dean glance in his rear view mirror, preparing to drive away, Sam pushed all concern away and hustled to get in the car before he would be left behind.

"Finally," Dean grumbled, reversing from the parking spot quickly before Sam even had time to pull the door shut. "What'd you have to do? Put your make up on?"

Sam didn't respond. He glanced at Dean out of the corner of his eye, gritting his teeth together painfully.

"You would've hustled a lot quicker if it had been Dad telling you to move your ass."

There was something seriously wrong and Sam was starting to doubt he had anything to do with it. Dean wasn't just acting like a pissed off older brother. He wasn't even acting like a teenager suffering with raging hormones but forced to take his kid brother everywhere with him. He wasn't acting anything like the Dean Sam had ever known.

He wasn't acting like Dean at all.

"You gonna sit there like a little pansy ass girl, all pathetic and snooty? You not going to say anything at all?" Dean chuckled, snorting loudly. It was the snort that caught Sam's attention, he glanced at his brother sharply. "Little bitch, just gonna stew over it and whine at me later, huh? Pathetic little bitch."

Sam's jaw dropped.

_"Shit…"_

Sam tried to stop himself from flinching while Dean held his gaze, but he knew that Dean hadn't missed the whispered exclamation. His eyes were looking over Sam's body, searching until he finally found what he was after.

He reached over and snatched the cell phone from inside Sam's jacket pocket.

"BITCH!" he cried, his voice not even sounding like him anymore. "What the hell do you think you're doing? What the hell do you think this is?"

Sam didn't know what to say. He waited.

"Who the hell do you think you ARE?!?!"

Dean held the phone tightly in his hand, barely looking at the road as he studied the phone. Sam didn't have to wait long to find out what Dean's next move was when his elbow was thrust with sharp and painful accuracy at Sam's face. It connected with such force that Sam's head shot back and hit the side of the car.

Sam was so dazed that he barely registered what was happening as Dean let go of the phone, and the steering wheel, and launched himself across the seat at him, his hands immediately around Sam's throat, squeezing tight.

"Dean!" Sam wheezed, trying to break Dean's hold. Nothing was working, nothing could stop the sudden violent urge that had taken hold of his brother. There was a rage in Dean's eyes that Sam had never seen before. "Dean, stop!"

Sam did the only thing he could think of, reaching up to Dean's face and tearing at his eyes.

"You even fight like a bitch!" Dean laughed at him. The Impala accelerated as Dean pushed off the accelerator to get a better hold over Sam. "I should've done this a long time ago! You just cause trouble, you just make everything WORSE! I should've let you stay dead! I went to HELL for you, and look what I get! Hell, Sam! HELL!"

Sam gasped for breath.

Dean slammed Sam's head against the door time and time again as he yelled at him.

"I did EVERYTHING for you! Everything! Shit, you should've died in that damned fire instead of Mom! She should've left you there!"

Sam's heart was aching and it wasn't just from the strain of trying to breathe. Dean was hitting every nerve Sam had, and it was more effective than Sam would like to admit.

"If you'd died, Jessica would've lived! Hell, I could've left you there then, to die with her and then I wouldn't have had to listen to you whining ever since!"

Sam finally broke free of Dean's hold and pushed his brother away. His hand automatically went to his throat, massaging tender muscles and bruises that would appear in time.

"You don't mean any of that, Dean," Sam wheezed, swallowing passed the lump in his throat. "This isn't you talking, Dean. Something's wrong, this isn't you."

"Isn't it?" Dean questioned, launching at Sam again. Sam reached out for him, intercepting the attack. For a moment the struggle for control was fairly even, either brother could've won, but Sam's injuries had taken a toll and he was forced back again, unable to breathe. His vision had already started to fade before Dean had even struck, and now he could feel himself growing weak.

Sam reached up and clawed at Dean's eyes, desperation and pure instinct kicking in. His finger nails connected with Dean's eyes and soon Sam saw blood trickling down Deans cheeks as he gouged skin from around them. Dean let go briefly, growling in a barely human voice.

Dean ran fingers over his eyes, pulling them away slippery and wet with blood. He stared at them as if he were in a trance, amazed by the colour on them. He rubbed them together, in awe of the stickiness.

Sam reached for the steering wheel to try and right their course, grateful that there was no traffic. Before he could grab onto it, however, Dean slammed his fist into Sam's face, and pushed the passenger door open. The wind grabbed it and threatened to tear it off its hinges, threatening to come back and slam shut.

Dean pushed Sam against the door. Sam was half out of the car, desperately grabbing at Dean's jacket to try and keep himself inside the car. The Impala was going at a dangerous speed, spreading its path across the road, uncertain of which way to go. Sam was fighting against impossible odds to not only stay in the car but to stay alive.

This time the threat was his big brother.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_What the hell am I doing? This is Sammy! My little brother! What is WRONG with me! Get him up! Get him back in the car! Save him! You're going to kill him! Oh God, I'M going to kill him! I'm going to kill my little bro-_

_Shut up, asshole!_

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam could feel his grip on Dean's jacket loosening. He looked into his brother's eyes and for a split second, Dean was there, looking at him with that fear and concern that was reserved for Sam. As suddenly as it was there, it was gone. Replacing it was anger and hatred. Dean wanted Sam dead, and Sam could see it.

He heard something clatter to the road. The sound lasted only a split second as the Impala roared up the highway, swerving as there were no hands to keep it on track. Sam wondered how it was even possible that they hadn't crashed, but the thought was pushed out of his mind as he felt his body shift beneath Dean's and the blacktop was suddenly a lot closer.

"Dean, please," he pleaded, real fear and desperation bursting through his chest. He didn't think he had ever felt anything quite like this before. "This isn't you, Dean. You don't want to do this!"

Dean laughed and pushed Sam harder, his head coming closer to the road.

"Please, Dean."

Dean smiled and pulled away from Sam for a moment. Sam felt relief swelling in his throat for a moment before the realisation of what was really happening sunk in.

Dean's fist hit him hard and sure, stunning Sam almost into unconsciousness. He lost his grip completely and for a second all that held him in the car was Dean's left hand around his throat.

"See you in hell, little brother," Dean hissed.

He let go.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Dean sat back in the drivers' seat, taking control of the Impala quickly. He didn't decrease his speed, he liked going fast, feeling the wind racing through the open passenger door. He glanced in his rear view mirror and saw his brother's body hit the road and tumble several feet before landing in a barely recognisable pile of Sammy Winchester's famously long arms and legs.

He chuckled.

_Oh God! Sam! What have I done? I have to go back, I have to get him to a hospital! I have to-_

"Shut up already," Dean muttered.

The Impala continued its course, its driver never looking back again.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"SHIT!" Bobby shouted when the connection to Sam's phone was finally lost. He didn't like what he heard, there were definite sounds of a struggle, screeching tyres and everything was just… gone. "SHIT!"

Bobby hit the steering wheel of his truck as he sped across the highway in the direction he hoped the boys would be. He had no idea what he was going to do, but the only thing he could think of was to get to Sam – somehow. He knew they had left the motel where they had stayed after finishing their last hunt. A hunt he had sent them on. It was only a few hours away and Bobby had left as soon as he had gotten Sam's phone call, but he wasn't entirely sure that he had a few hours to get there.

The boys had planned to stay at Bobby's for a few days to regroup so Dean could do some repairs to the Impala and Sam could bury his nose in books. Bobby hoped that had still been the intention. After what Sam had told him in his hurried call before joining Dean in the Impala and then what Bobby had heard over the open line, he didn't think he could count on any of that anymore.

Something was very wrong with Dean Winchester.

Bobby had heard enough to know that Sam was hurt. At least, he hoped that he was hurt because the alternative was unbearable. The struggle had sounded serious. He prayed desperately that it was THAT serious. He had lost both Sam and Dean in painfully permanent ways before, and even though he knew things had not been right since Dean had made the deal to bring Sam back, he couldn't pretend he wasn't relieved to have the younger man alive and well. And now Dean was back, too, and he thanked his lucky stars because it had been hell knowing that Dean was in, well, hell.

After Dean had died, he had taken Sam back to his place to drown their sorrows. They had barely spoken, Sam shut down completely. All he did was drink and research until, one day, Sam had left without a word. Bobby had tried to stop him, tried to tell him that it wasn't safe for him to hunt right then, especially alone, but Sam had ignored him. He'd caught a glimpse of Sam's eyes that day and had seen something he had never thought he'd see in Sam Winchester's eyes.

Gone were the dreams, the hope, the innocence that only Sam could keep in a world like this. Instead, he saw anger and bitterness. He was no longer the youngest Winchester, but the only surviving Winchester. He didn't dream of a better life for himself, didn't dream of returning to the life he had once lived. He was now, finally, one of them.

He was a hunter. Deadly. Dangerous. And worse, he was a grieving Winchester.

Although Sam was alive, Bobby had lost him. He hadn't been able to hold onto him for long after Dean had died, and even after Dean came back, Bobby knew that Sam never really did. He hadn't recovered from losing Dean, he hadn't forgiven himself for not being able to save him. And once innocence is lost, it can't be recovered and so Sam remained a hunter, hungry for the next kill.

Dead or alive, Bobby didn't think he could handle losing one of them again. They were like his own kids, everything he ever could've asked for. He had had to bury Dean once, was lucky to have gotten Sam back in the first place… He just couldn't do that again.

A man was not supposed to bury his boys, it just wasn't the natural order of things.

Bobby tried to push the panic out of his mind. The engine roared as he pushed it beyond its limits to get to where he thought – hoped – prayed that Sam was.

And God, he hoped he wasn't hurt too badly, that he'd get there on time…

That he was still alive.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sam felt consciousness threatening to return and he hoped that he could fight it off. He could already tell that he was going to be in a world of hurt when he woke up.

_Damn. WHEN I wake up. Well, that's just stupid, I AM awake. I can tell because I'm talking to myself… am I? Or am I just thinking…_

_Ah, shit. I've got another concussion. Well, that's just great! Homicidal brother plus concussion, what else could go wrong?_

Sam gingerly raised his head and immediately regretted it as nausea ripped through him and the contents of his stomach poured over the road, his jeans and whatever else it managed to reach. His head was pounding, the world was swimming around him. He tried to sit up and his body screamed, pain shooting through him.

_That can't be good. Maybe I shouldn't move? Hmmm, you know, I did hit the road pretty hard. Hell, I could have a spinal injury for all I know. Internal bleeding even! Ha, like that'd be the first time!_

Sam tried to roll onto his side and a hiss of pain came out involuntarily.

_Shit, that hurts! I really shouldn't move. But then again, getting hit by a car now wouldn't be a good idea. Not that it's ever a good idea to get hit by a car, but something tells me it would be even worse now. Hey, what's that?_

Several feet away from Sam, there was something lying in the middle of the road. He couldn't tell what it was and it looked like it was in a few pieces. He began to drag himself in that direction. He wasn't aware of his body, all he was aware of was pain and a desperate need to get to the small black object he could see ahead of him.

A new wave of nausea overcame him and he flopped back onto the road as his stomach retched painfully, expelling whatever was left in his stomach. The burning sensation of stomach acid and bile made him cough and splutter. It felt like acid was shooting through his brain.

Sam pulled himself to a more upright position once again and commando crawled toward the object that he could only assume was his salvation from the pain, though he had no idea why that was. He knew he was dragging useless legs behind him now as the noise of denim on top of gravel penetrated the thumping in his head, but he tried to ignore the possible reasons for his inability to use his legs. At the moment, all he could think about – all he allowed himself to think about – was that thing. That was his goal. Reach the black object, his doorway to safety, to help.

One thing Sam really didn't want to think about was the reason he was lying, damaged, on the road.

Just as Sam reached the object – his cell phone – he stretched an aching arm that looked like it was working from a rather odd angle, toward it. As fingers brushed the edge of the phone, nausea threatened.

More bile rose.

Sam coughed and sputtered.

_That really can't be a good thing._

Darkness overcame.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Bobby was driving at speeds that he had never dared to drive before, but he knew he didn't have much time. He had tried to call Sam's phone several times along the way but kept getting the recorded message that made Sam sound more like an accountant than a kick-ass Winchester. Finally, he tossed his phone onto the passenger seat in frustration and concentrated on two things.

Keeping himself on the road.

And driving as fast as possible without the truck falling apart.

Bobby had hoped that Dean had followed the plan that Bobby had laid out for him and stayed at the motel he had recommended. Sometimes, as a hunter, the hardest part about getting started was finding somewhere to lay your head at the end of a long day. Especially when you've driven for days to get to a hunt, had to do some re-con and THEN try and find somewhere to call home.

How things had gotten his bad Bobby had no idea. He didn't even want to consider what had happened! The boys' usual arguments he could handle. The petty bickering that went on among brothers – although somewhat more dangerous with the Winchesters – he could put a stop to. The boys listened to him more than they had listened to their own father. Even their bitch fights when the trickster got involved he managed to take care of! But this? This was a whole new level and he didn't even want to think about what had happened, that it could carry on for so long without Sam trying to Chick Flick his way out of it! Why hadn't he tried to talk to Dean and try to figure it out? They had obviously been arguing, otherwise Sam would've known something was seriously wrong. He must've had doubts as to whether Dean was even talking to him. But, why?

Bobby had already been driving for about four hours, and he had no idea how far away the boys were. The hunt wasn't particularly far from his place, which is why he was hoping they'd been on the way because, at the moment, that was the only way he would find Sam. He considered calling in some help, even some local law enforcement contacts, but he wasn't sure who he could really trust given the recent reports of demonic activity in the area. He had deliberately not told Sam about that because he knew he was out for demon blood and right now he was trying to keep the boys alive. Busy, but alive. And now it seemed like Sam might have met with a rather nasty accident at the hands of the one person he had always trusted.

Bobby's cell phone rang and he reached across the seat to answer it. He took his eyes off the road for one second and when he glanced back up again his heart was immediately in his throat!

"Aw, SHIT!" Bobby shouted, swerving the steering wheel sharply. The truck careered across the road and over the side of the road and into the bushes. Only three wheels were touching the ground and, although Bobby wasn't sure how it had happened, his lip was bleeding.

Bobby glanced behind him, straining to see what it was that he had almost hit. He still couldn't make it out properly, but there was a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him that he knew what it was.

Or rather, who it was.

He reached for the door handle and fought against it, trying to get the door open. It was refusing to budge, something was stopping it from opening. He wound the window down and reached to the outside handle, but still the door wouldn't open.

"Damn it!" he growled, his frustration growing. The longer he sat in the truck, the more convinced he was that the unmoving lump on the road behind him was Sam. He leaned out of the window far enough to see what was going on. It was a large tree branch pressing into the side of the truck, and judging by he rather large dent in the door, Bobby guess that it was the damage from the branch preventing him from opening the door. "SHIT!"

Bobby reached for the passenger door and, with a slight pause for something akin to prayer, Bobby pushed the door open. It swung wide easily and Bobby dropped to the ground. His feet had barely touched down before they were carrying him back to the road and towards…

He wasn't sure how he knew that it was Sam lying there, considering he hadn't had a chance to see it before landing in a ditch, but something deep inside him knew. The distance wasn't far, and yet it seemed like miles stretched between them. Time had slowed down. The air barely seemed to be moving. Silence seemed to have surrounded them. Not even the birds were singing, like the death of the youngest Winchester had put a stop to the world revolving. It would certainly have put a stop to Bobby's world, he was sure of that.

_Wait, who said he's dead? I haven't seen him yet… If I don't go over there, it can't be true. But then, if I don't go over there, Sam could die. He could-_

_Oh shut up, old man, and get moving!_

Bobby fell to his knees, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of the young man before him. Sure enough, his gut instinct had been right, it was Sam lying before him. Blood pooled around Sam's head. Bobby glanced further up the road and realised that Sam had dragged himself to this position. A few seconds of further inspection told him why.

The tips of Sam's fingers touched the broken cell phone.

Reluctantly, Bobby rolled Sam over so he could inspect his injuries. The struggle between the boys that Bobby had heard obviously ended in the way that he had feared. And, judging by the damage he was seeing, it had been at a high speed.

There was a large gash along the side of Sam's head, just inside his hairline. Blood was flowing pretty freely from it and Bobby knew he would have to put a stop to the bleeding, and soon.

"Sam?" Bobby spoke to him, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice. "Sam? Can you hear me?"

He kept checking for injuries, and as he lifted Sam's torn shirt he hissed in involuntary sympathy. Dark bruises were spreading from Sam's ribs, across his abdomen. Turning him onto his side gently, Bobby found the bruising was spreading from his back as well.

"Shit, this is bad," Bobby muttered.

Bobby refused to let himself think about how bad.

SUPERNATURAL

Sorry there was such a delay, we've had some dramas. My beautiful little daughter decided that another trip to hospital was necessary, this time with gastro. With the help of TraSan, we worked out that this was the Australian equivalent of the stomach flu. She couldn't keep anything down and I couldn't wake her up one morning, so it ended up being the emergency room for us! Anyway, she's coming good now and I was finally able to get back to this chapter.

I'll try and be better in the future! Meanwhile, let me know what you think :)


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